Another Day
by Faithful Penelope
Summary: When Wilson woke up in the morning, he would have told you that it was not going to be a good day.  Fluffy fun.  All mistakes mine.  Comments appreciated.


When Wilson woke up in the morning, he would have told you that it was not going to be a good day. He had been awoken in the night when House blew a fuse with an amp, knocking out Wilson's clock (_and my TiVo,_ he thought mournfully. _All those episodes of _Terra Del Fiego_, lost_). He had reset it, half-asleep, only to discover in the morning he had reset his alarm to PM and was now running behind his schedule. He had jumped out of bed and into the shower (a cold shower – that was the penalty for showering after House), and blow the fuse again with his hair dryer. House, of course, thought this was hilarious.

He also refused to help, making Wilson run down to the basement, hair sticking in every direction, to flip the switch. Nora had been in the elevator and had just stared at him as he tried to make small talk, extraordinary conscious of his hair, and his work pants, t-shirt, and bare feet. He had rushed House out the door and in his haste to get to the hospital, almost ran over an old lady crossing Nassau Street. She had turned and flipped him off in front of all of Princeton.

House had laughed so hard his leg cramped. Wilson just rubbed his neck.

By the time Wilson stepped into his office, he was ready for the day to end.

He managed to make it through his first 3 meetings without incident. A mid-morning break gave him a chance to catch up on some paperwork. He was in the middle of a chart when there was a knock on his door.

"Yes?"

The door opened and Chase, Thirteen, and Taub stepped into the room. They all looked immensely uncomfortable.

"Is there something I can do for you?" Wilson finally asked.

The three looked at each other until Chase gestured at Taub. The older man sighed loudly and stepped forward. "House wants to know…" He glared at the other two. "Why do I have to ask?"

"You pulled the short straw," Thirteen said quickly.

Wilson heard House's voice in his head – _You are the short straw_ – and tried not to snicker.

"Our patient is a little rich kid. Completely sheltered. House thinks he needs… some experience. So he asked us to ask you… for the number of that hooker you used to call." The last part of the sentence came out in a rush, the words tripping over each other.

Wilson's jaw dropped open. "I don't call prostitutes," he protested, mainly to Thirteen.

Thirteen held up her hands as if to say, _I don't want to know what you do or don't do_. "He mentioned… Debbie, maybe?"

"I – " Wilson remembered suddenly. Debbie the fake prostitute, who Wilson had used to throw House off his and Cuddy's adoption meeting trail. House knew full well Wilson hadn't slept with her. "Did Cuddy force this patient on House?"

The three nodded. So House was bored, Wilson thought. Tormenting his fellows.

"Tell him… Debbie graduated from law school and isn't in that business anymore."

"Law school," Chase repeated lamely.

"With honors," Wilson specified.

"Sure," Chase said.

"She's now defending people against stalkers and the private investigators who work for them."

Taub sighed again. Thirteen rolled her eyes. "Great, thanks," Chase mumbled. The door clicked shut behind them. Wilson chuckled and went back to his file. Then his phone rang.

"Dr. Wilson."

"The part about the private investigators was cute," House said. "Although I don't think they were terribly convinced."

Wilson grinned. "I thought you'd appreciate that. Now get to work."

"But, Dad!"  
"Don't make me call your mother," Wilson threatened.

"Later, Wilson."

"Later, House."

Wilson went looking for House at lunch. He found him outside his patient's room, demeaning his patient's parents as Foreman desperately tried to run interference.

"What Dr. House meant was, your son might have a different threshold for pain than other individuals."

"Yeah, that's why I called him a – "

"House!"

Wilson decided House would be a while, and headed down to the cafeteria alone. He was contemplating jello verses pudding when someone cleared her throat. Wilson turned to see the new pharmacy rep standing behind him. She smiled at him. Her black dress was molded to her body, and what a body it was. He smiled back.

"Hello," he said.

"Hi. Dr. Wilson, right?. Linda Cody, pharmacy representative." She leaned forward. Wilson fought to keep his eyes on her face. "For Trojan."

"You – oh." He cleared his throat. "Good to know."

"I'd love to talk to you about what I can offer."

_I'd like to see what you offer, all right_. "Well, we don't really have much use for your product in oncology."

She lowered her lashes and looked up coyly. "I wasn't talking about oncology."

Wilson went silent for a moment, then smiled. "Oh. Well, I'd love to discuss those…options with you. Over dinner, perhaps?"

Linda hummed in agreement. A business card appeared out of nowhere, and he tried not to react as she reached over and tucked it into his inner jacket pocket. "Call me," she mouthed, and disappeared across the room. Wilson watched her intently. Then a shadow moved and he became aware of someone standing next to him.

"You hate for her to leave," he stated.

"But you love to watch her go," House finished. "James Wilson, you cad. I'd worn you that she's slept her way through multiple hospital departments, but then again, so have you."

Wilson shot House a half-hearted glare. "Don't ruin my buzz, House. It's good to know I still got it."

"What, a good boy look mixed with a sheen of desperation? I know how that combination attracts the lost and insecure."

"Whatever." Wilson shrugged. He decided on pudding. "I don't see ladies offering to sample their condom supply with you."

"That's because – "

"There he is."

House froze, an _oh, shit_ expression on his face. "Who is that?" Wilson hissed.

"My patient's parents' lawyer," House mumbled. "I told Foreman to deal with him. Here, block me. Make like you've got something important for me to do instead of finding some woman for you to do." He made to step behind Wilson but he jumped back.

"Oh, no. I heard you with your patient. You're not using me as a human shield." He slipped around a protesting House and around the corner. "Later, House."

"I hate you, Wilson."

The elevator doors dinged, and Wilson stepped out into the lobby of PPTH. One of his afternoon patients had cancelled, freeing up some time for a short walk. He had earned, he thought. He had sent home two patients with far more positive diagnosis then anyone could have hoped for.

The floor was unusually quiet, a little like Tombstone at high noon. Wilson realized everyone was looking in one direction, and followed the nurses' gazes.

House and Cuddy were outside the clinic, looking like they were about to duel. Showdown at the PPTH carrel.

Wilson wandered over, positioning himself at the nurses station behind Cuddy, where he could watch the proceedings covertly. House looked at him and for a moment Wilson was sure he was going to be tossed into the middle. But House just looked back down and smirked.

"I find it very interesting that my budget-minded Dean of Medicine is suddenly an advocate of random and expensive testing. So the next time a clinic patient complains of joint pain, I should just schedule him for a full-body scan, right? No need to run it by you?"

Cuddy huffed. "It's different and you know it."

"The people are the same. It's their bank accounts that are different."

"House, they are huge donors. They are single-handedly keeping the new rehabilitation ward open. Do you know how the hospital will suffer if they take back their money?"

"So in your panic you're letting the patients run the show. That's just great medicine."

"House! This is not the time to be discussing this. The hospital is in a financial crisis. They are offering us a way out, and all we need to do is comply with their wishes for a few scans. You… you…" She flapped her hands in the air, searching for a way to make her point. "When your neighbor's house is on fire, you don't fight over the price of your garden hose."

"Actually, that would be the perfect time. He'd pay anything. You know, because his house is on fire."

For a moment she froze. "But… Yes, but while you're fighting, the fire's spreading to your house!"

Over Cuddy's shoulder House caught Wilson's eye and smirked almost imperceptibly. Then he shrugged. "I've got renter's insurance. It covers fire."

Cuddy threw her hands up, then turned and stomped back in the direction of her office. "That's not the point, House, and you know it. Just do the damn procedure!" The door slammed shut behind her.

House grinned. Wilson couldn't help himself and laughed.

"Why do you torture her?"

"Hey, if she's going to be throwing out bad clichés, she deserves it."

"That's true. I mean, aren't we be the neighbor in that analogy? So shouldn't she be talking to the donor about his garden hose?"

House snickered. "Cuddy does know her way around hoses."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, you better go stick Prince Charles in the body scanner before she does something unpleasant to your hose."

House's pager beeped. "Oh, she loves my hose. She would never do anything to hurt it. Besides, I stuck the bonny prince in the scanner an hour ago." He held up the beeper. It blinked Taub's number and the message, _scan results in_.

"So that whole argument…"

"Was purely academic, yes."

Wilson fought to keep the smile of his face. "She's going to kill you one of these days, and I'm going to have to help bury the body."

"You wouldn't do that. You'd squirrel my body away to some secret lab and work to bring me back to life with my brain and Brad Pitt's body. Dr. Frankenwilson and his monster."

"Be nicer to me or I'll find somebody else's body to sew your brain into," Wilson deadpanned. "Larry King's, perhaps."

House shrugged. "Hey, as long as he's got a working pair of these –" He bounced his cane off of his shins as he walked away - "I'll be happy. Until then, you can find me on the ice floes, searching for my mate."

"It was the doctor searching for his creation on the ice floes," Wilson called after him. "There was no mate. Frankenstein wouldn't build her."

House mugged a horrified face. "Oh, cruel creator!," he wailed as the elevator doors dinged open behind him. "Why do you have to destroy my dreams?"

"Later, House."

"Later, Wilson."

Wilson stepped into Exam Room 1, his face buried in a file. He had never hated clinic hours like House did. Sometimes clinic hours were a good break from the usually depressing oncology department.

"So, Mr. Gonzales. You've had a sore throat for a week now?"

"Oh, looks like I won the doctor lottery."

"You – what?" Wilson's head snapped up. His patient was looking at him coyly through lowered lashes. His _male_ patient.

_What is with me today?_ Wilson though incredulously. "Your sore throat?" he repeated.

"It's killing me all week," Gonzales stated. "And I'm starting to feel feverish. Although that just might be the company."

Wilson could feel the blush creeping up his neck. "Uh, well, it sounds like a case of strep. Open your mouth and I'll take a look."

Gonzales leaned forward into Wilson's space. He fought the urge to step back and took a sample, then retreated to the other side of the room. "Your throat looks pretty raw. I'll have the sample back by tomorrow, and I'll let you know."

"That's all?" Gonzales sounded disappointed.

"Yes. The nurse will call – " He was interrupted by the door swinging open with a bang.

"Wilson. Need a consult."

"In the middle of something, House," Wilson stated, not bothering to look over. Gonzales looked back and forth between the two doctors, fascinated.

"Don't you care my patient might have cancer?" House whined.

"Your patient doesn't have cancer. You're just bored. Now go away."

House huffed. "You're no fun," he complained, and slammed the door shut behind him.

"Sorry about that," Wilson said. "Like I was saying, the nurse will call you."

"How long have you two been in love?" Gonzales asked, leaning in close again.

"What – who – me and House? No, no, we're not… you know," Wilson stuttered. _I don't get paid enough for this. _"Just friends."

"Too bad." Gonzales gave him a lascivious look again. "I'd love to sit in on _that _consult." He slid down off the table and blew a kiss towards Wilson. "Call me if you change your mind."

Wilson stared at the door, flabbergasted. A minute later, it opened again. House marched in and hopped up on the table. "Finally. I was waiting out there so long, Evil Nurse Previns almost gave me a case." When Wilson didn't answer, House poked him with his cane. "Hey. What's your issue?"

"My patient… well, first he hit on me. And then he asked how long I had been in love. And then… I think he proposed a threesome."

"With who? Nurse Previns? Cuddy?" House grinned. "Chase?"

"You," Wilson said. House's jaw dropped open.

_Well, well_, Wilson thought. He grinned. _So that's how you silence House. Good to know._ It had been worth it after all.

"Later, House."

There was no response.

Wilson rested his elbows on the balcony wall and took a deep breath. "Today was a good day."

"You didn't even have to use your A.K.?"

"I – what?"

House flashed a gang sign. (Well, Wilson assumed it was a gang sign. For all he really knew, it was sign language for dry Reuben, no pickle.) "Ice Cube. Classic late 80's rap. 'Drunk as hell and no throwing up, half way home and my pager still blowing up, today I didn't even have to use my A.K., I got to say, it was a good day.'"

Wilson stared blankly back.

"Of course you wouldn't know Ice Cube. You were probably listening to Debbie Gibson back then. Were you lost in her eyes?"

"I did not listen to Debbie Gibson. The Bangles, though, they were great." He tried to look offended as House howled in laughter next to him. "Hey, they all played their own instruments!"

"Oh, well, then," House wheezed. "That makes it fine that you listen to girl music."

Wilson harrumphed. Then he grinned. "You think I don't know you have the Go-Go's on your I-Pod?"

"Hey, now." House raised a finger in warning. "Do not, I repeat, do not hate on the Go-Go's."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Or else I'll find that old lady on Nassau Street to beat your ass."

"Aw," Wilson groaned. "That was so embarrassing."

"That was so hilarious."

"Speaking of embarrassment, when you sent your team into my office about the hookers? Thirteen told Taub he had to ask because he drew the short straw."

"He is the short straw," House immediately quipped.

Wilson shook his head, smiling. "And that's exactly what I heard in my head."

"Really?" House swung his leg over the divider and sat with his back against the wall. "I'm in your head. Good to know."

"You're not in my head. I just spend too much time with you."

"I'm in your head," House repeated.

"Whatever." Wilson straightened up, took one last look at hospital grounds, and started towards his office. "Come on. I'm hungry. Let's get dinner."

"Ooh, buying me dinner. The perfect ending to a good day."

Wilson smiled. It was.


End file.
